


wanna see your animal side

by dragoncoutorture (ugnoise)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood, Dubious Consent, Feral Behavior, M/M, Smut, Weird Galra Biology, Weird Galra Instincts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23530756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ugnoise/pseuds/dragoncoutorture
Summary: Keith's been having these weird dreams lately, ever since the fight at the clone facilityShiro's no stranger to coming back wrong
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> whoo boy this was based heavily on a twitter post by [ASinnerParadise](https://twitter.com/asinnerparadise) on twitter. their twitter is locked but the gist of it is Keith's galra instincts give him a thing for being hunted down and backed into a corner and forced to fight until he's ultimately bested and then claimed.

Sand shifts under is feet as he runs across the desert. The moon is full tonight, stretching shadows bigger and longer until the rocks and the plants no longer look so benign, so benevolent. His breath rattles in his chest, scores his throat, but still he runs, stumbling over uneven footing, adrenaline lending wings to his feet. His feet ache, sting, muscles starting to cramp, but still he runs. Sweat drips from his forehead, but still he runs.

He’s so close. Just a little further and he can--

A weight tackles him to ground and a clawed hand closes round his throat.

“Hey,” Keith says, squeezing into the cockpit next to Shiro with his own bowl of space goo.

“Hey, yourself,” Shiro says, offering up a smile, but it’s weak, wan, and Shiro must know it too because he lets it drop soon enough.

“Bad night?” Keith says, aiming for nonchalant and missing by a mile, worried and trying to rein it in, trying not to crowd and hover like he wants to. He just wants Shiro to be okay, for him to not have to suffer his nights, and endure his days, only to do all over again. That’s all he’s ever wanted, and after the battle at the clone facility

( _claws splitting his skin like ripe fruit, face down because that where he’s meant to be_ )

he wants it now more than ever, even if sometimes his desperate attempts to make it come true feel a lot like penance. Keith’s gaze skitters away for a second. He forces it back.

Shiro’s gaze goes heavy for a second, trailing over Keith like he wants to savour the moment and Keith’s adrenaline spikes, legs tense like he’s about to run but then he blinks and Shiro’s gaze is on his own breakfast. In the end Shiro says, “Sometimes it feels like there’s too much… _me_ in here. It’s taking a while to find my equilibrium.” He gestures at the space where his arm used to be, lips quirked at his poor attempt at a joke, and Keith very carefully doesn’t flinch. “But I’ll get there,” Shiro adds, a forced cheer, and Keith does his best to mirror it.

He’s running and running and running, flying across the sand under the shadow of the moon, adrenaline making his heart pound in his chest.

He’s falling, falling, falling, a weight on his back, claws at his throat pinning him in place even as he fights to get free. There’s hot breath on his cheek, and as he growls and struggles, from the corner of his eye, just a glimpse over his shoulder he sees--

~~My, what big teeth you have.~~

Shiro travelling with him in Black really drives home how not equipped the lion is for multiple people. Even for Keith and Shiro, who are used to being in each other’s space, Keith can’t help but feel like the walls are closing in. There’s a tension to their silences now, a weight, air charged between them, and there’s a pressure on his chest like it’s hard to breathe, air all thinned out. Shiro doesn’t take up much room, not really, shoulders slumped towards the ground, spine curved as though to make himself smaller, and Keith can’t avoid it, is confronted with his failure every waking

( _a rumbled growl like a thunderstorm, to the victor the spoils_ )

moment.

But Shiro needs-- well, not him, but Keith’s the best he’s got right now. So he shoves down the claustrophobia clawing at his throat because he’d do anything, _give_ anything, for Shiro.

(But sometimes Shiro fills the room, gaze like a heated caress, body looming over his, a cage for Keith until all he wants to do is spit and snarl and claw his way free. Sometimes, Shiro fills the room, gaze like teeth closing over his throat, body hunting his and Keith _wants_.)

He’s running and running and falling and falling, teeth at his throat and claws at his hip and my what big teeth you have, all the better to--

He’s awake and he’s hard, and his ass is slick and wanting, and Keith stumbles to his feet in the middle of the night cycle, picking his way around Shiro’s sleeping body. He barely makes it to the bathroom before his hand is on his dick and his other is shoving one-two-three into his hole, hard and fast as he keens and keens and comes like a force of nature.

Fortunately, there’s room enough in the cargo hold get some exercise in, otherwise this whole trip would have gone off like a powder keg in no time flat. Keith spends most of his free time there, crunching through push ups and sit ups and practising his forms, and most of the time Shiro joins him, the physical exertion doing wonders for settling him, grounding him. But there are some days where Shiro can’t even bring himself to get out of bed, and Keith is left to sweat out his guilt by himself.

At least, he thought he was by himself, but Keith catches a blur of movement

( _running and falling and beaten and subdued_ )

out of the corner of his eye,

( _my, what big teeth--_ )

close, way too close, and instinct has him swinging before his mind can catch up.

Luckily, Shiro catches his swing, inches away from where it was going to crash into his jaw, and Keith’s sigh of relief catches in his throat.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, swallowing hard, heart beating a mantra of _run run run_ inside his chest. “You startled me.”

Shiro hums – agreement or acknowledgement or appraisal or – his gaze a slow walk over Keith’s body, from where his sweat slicks his hair to his temples and the nape of his neck, down to his cramping legs and bare feet. His grip on Keith’s wrist tightens, like he’s about to reel Keith in, and Keith fights the way his lips want to peel back in a snarl.

He licks his lips instead, and

( _claws at his throat, teeth at his throat, running and falling and pinned in place_ )

Shiro tracks that too, animal quick. Adrenaline kicks in, and Keith’s voice wavers slightly when he says, “did you wanna spar, Shiro?” just for something to say, tension building like lightning in the atmosphere but.

Shiro’s grin has too many teeth.

Keith twists his wrist free just as Shiro lunges for him, and Keith’s footing firms even as he lashes out with a kick, right at Shiro’s ribs. But Shiro’s footing is sure too, the lack of arm for once doing nothing to throw off his balance, and he flows around it with preternatural speed, leaving Keith with barely enough time to get his arms up to block his punch. The strength of it is unreal, and Keith feels the blow like a sonic boom, but he refuses to ( _be prey_ ) lose this one so he shakes it off to launch his counter and then they’re off.

Usually their spars are a bit more equal, Keith’s agility and unpredictability more than enough for Shiro’s strength and strategy, but Shiro is ruthless today, and every step Keith takes is countered, each blow he blocks like a divine punishment, until his defence crumples like paper and Keith goes down like a sack of bricks.

There’s a flurry of movement, Keith snarling and swinging ( _claws out_ ) as Shiro tries to pin him, until he’s outmanoeuvred, face down on the ground with his arms twisted behind his back.

“Yield,” Shiro growls, voice hard and unyielding, shifting as Keith struggles, thwarting each escape attempt.

“ _Yield_ ,” he says again, and his voice rumbles in his chest, as deep as the oceans, as the void around them, and Keith’s, “I yield,” is torn from him, ripped straight from his chest. For one moment there’s

_hot breath on his cheek_

there are

_claws at his hip_

and he’s

_pinned, face down ass up, this is where you belong_

and then the weight disappears and Keith can scramble away. He stumbles to his feet, panting, wary gaze fixed on Shiro, but Shiro is stumbling back too, running a shaking hand over his face, before he mumbles something and flees the room.

Keith is rock hard, his ass slick and wanting, and he _aches_.

He’s awake in the bathroom, one hand round his dick and the other one-two-three in his ass, sobbing and cursing as he

_is pinned by teeth and claws and cock, beaten and subdued, yield because this is where you belong, the spoils of a victory_

comes and comes and comes.

Keith spends his days hunted and his nights caught, trap winding tighter and tighter until

_my, what big--_

it snaps shut around him.

He ducks under Shiro’s

_claws_

snapping out a hit of his own that gets blocked by his thigh. He dances backwards before Shiro can get a grip on him, matching Shiro’s

_bared teeth_

with a grin of his own, and then goes on the offensive before Shiro can find his footing again. He swings at him, his own _c l a w s_ barely clipping his chin, and then twists his body into an overhead kick that crashes down onto Shiro’s block, turned away as though it was nothing. Shiro’s leg snaps out, and that sends him flying, air knocked out of him as he skids across the ground, _claws_ digging in to bring him to a stop. Keith _snarls, lips peeled back_ but Shiro is already there so Keith swipes at him, finally making contact, and cloth and skin part easily, blood spilling out to soak his top, giving Keith enough time to make it to his feet once more.

And then Keith is running and running until a weight hits him on his back, and then he’s falling and falling, claws and then teeth at his throat keeping him in place. His skin punctures, blood slipping down his neck, only for a hot tongue to lick it back up slow, savouring it. Hot breath fans across his cheek, and there’s a clawed hand at his hip, and Shiro’s voice is a rumble that shakes through him from where his chest is pressed to Keith’s back.

“Yield,” he growls, voice as deep and dark as the void around them.

Adrenaline makes him shake, and Keith’s breaths rattle in his chest, but he snarls anyway, fighting to get free until Shiro’s hand fists in his hair and Shiro’s teeth bite down properly. Keith goes still with a whine.

“ _Yield_ ,” Shiro growls again and Keith nods frantically, his “I yield,” more of a sob, pinned face down and ass up beneath Shiro, dick rock hard and ass slick and wanting and god, he just needs it so badly.

Shiro releases his hair so that he can pull down Keith’s workout shorts, just enough to bare his ass. And then there’s a rustle of material, and a blunt pressure at his ass, and then Keith is howling, clawing the ground as Shiro forces his way in, hot and thick and huge, coring him out. His dreams have nothing on the way Shiro fills him, the way his weight pins him to the ground, the way his arm cages Keith in, or the way his teeth skate over his neck, and Keith’s next exhale is a sob, Shiro’s next thrust lighting him up from the inside out.

“Fuck,” he grinds out, his own dick a heavy sway between his thighs, already there just from the way Shiro grinds his dick in, a little fast and a lot rough, the way he drags his teeth over Keith’s skin to make him bleed, only to lap it all up afterwards. Sweat drips down from his temple, stinging the cuts on his neck until Shiro licks that up too.

“Look at you,” Shiro says, breathless as he pounds away at Keith, who’s so slick he can feel it on his balls, dripping down his thighs, and Keith curses again, pleasure like lightning up his spine.

“That’s right,” Shiro continues around a groan, “knew you’d see it too. That this is where you belong, under me.”

Pleasure punches right through him at that and he grows hot with arousal, the arch of his back deepening so he Shiro can hit him deeper, and Shiro does with a groan until Keith starts making these ‘ah, ah, ah’ sounds, tearing at the ground as the pleasure builds.

“Fuck, Shiro, _please_.” He’s pinned down, nowhere to go as Shiro mounts him and takes and takes and _takes_ and something in Keith settles, purrs at Shiro’s strength even as the rest of him thrashes, wild with it.

Shiro growls, so deep in Keith that Keith can taste it in his throat, and says, “you’ll take what I give you.” It hits Keith dead on, and he sobs as he comes, completely untouched, shooting onto the ground between his spread thighs.

Shiro doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow, fucks Keith loose from where he’d tightened up as he came, and then keeps going. Keith pants open mouthed into the ground, drooling a little from how Shiro is fucking him stupid, twitching as his body oscillates between pleasure and pain until it twists together into one big sensation.

Mouthing at his neck, groaning, Shiro’s thrusts go erratic. “No one else,” he grits out, and Keith nods deliriously, pushing back into his next thrust just so Shiro will growl and clamp his teeth down, lapping up the spilled blood.

“No, no one else,” Keith babbles, whole body jolted by these thrusts, “just you. You won, it’s just you.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, but it makes perfect sense to him, and behind him Shiro hisses out his pleasure like he gets it too.

He thrusts once more, twice more, and then stills, coming deep inside Keith in a wave of heat, marking him. A few seconds, and then Shiro peels himself away and then pulls out, and Keith whimpers, bereft. He can’t move. Both of them are breathing hard, but Keith feels weak, wrung out, his top stuck to him with blood and sweat. Shiro’s hand cups his ass, parts his cheeks to reveal his loose, sloppy hole, and Keith shudders at the way globs of come drip out only for Shiro to finger them back in.

“That’s right,” Shiro says, as Keith twitches and moans, dick getting hard again.

“To the victor, the spoils.”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s too much.

Shiro smiles and says all the right things, but going from vast sea of nothing to sudden cacophony of everything is too much and most days it wouldn’t take much to shatter him apart completely.

The memories certainly don’t help.

He remembers everything the clone did. Whatever was left of the clone was assimilated into his essence until there was one whole. Or maybe he was assimilated into the clone, consumed by him, subsumed by the dominant personality. He doesn’t know how he’d know, can’t separate them – him, Shiro – anymore. A snake eating its tail.

There are too many thoughts in here. Too many thoughts, too many feelings, too many habits and instincts in this body. It’s intense, like sudden lights in a dark room; he’s not used to having senses anymore, each touch like sandpaper, sound enough to make his ears bleed. And the _scents_...

(Why does Keith always smell so good?)

Shiro is filled to the brim, overflowing from this body and scared to open his mouth because of what might fall out.

(There’s something not quite right with this body)

He’s been here before though. Shiro already knows he came back wrong once before, that he walked out of that arena more monster than man. But it was easy to hide it, to tuck his teeth and claws away until no one knew any better. The same can’t be said now, body moving faster than his thoughts.

(Or maybe just not with _his_ thoughts)

The pacing, from one end of the room to the other, energy under his skin that makes him want to-- to run or something, the way rage bubbles in the pit of his belly, making him want to meet every question with aggression, the threats he sees around every corner that lead him to always attack first… 

Keith makes it better.

(Keith makes it so much worse)

The clone’s thoughts, his memories from Before, kept getting caught on him (except there is no clone, no Shiro, just the whole, a snake eating its tail), circling around Keith like light caught in a black hole, and Shiro’s no better now, unable to settle unless he’s got his eyes on Keith, got him close by. His thoughts… spiral when he doesn’t, a restlessness mixing with his aggression, dovetailing nicely into his incessant rage in a cocktail mixture of destruction. He doesn’t know what he’d do if it was left to fester.

It’s why, in the end, he elects to go with Keith in Black as they head back to Earth. The journey’s supposed to be long, but that’s probably for the best since it’ll give him and chance to get his head on straight, gain some kind of equilibrium. Besides, Keith knows best how to handle him anyway.

It’s another night cycle of staring blankly at the ceiling.

There’s too much up there for him to be able to switch off properly, and most night cycles find him in the same way.

There’s only one cabin in the Lion so beside him on his own sleep pallet, Keith slumbers. Sound asleep, the cabin is filled with the soft sound of Keith’s breathing, and it soothes something deep in Shiro to hear it.

Keith always looks so worn down nowadays, tired and stressed and jumpy but somehow always there for Shiro when he needs it. The guilt is enough to choke him most days, knowing that he’s hurting Keith just by existing, but there’s a large part of him that’s just...

Keith whimpers in his sleep and Shiro zeroes in on it like a hound, his whole being attuned to Keith’s. He inhales, and Keith’s sleep-warm scent fills his head, buzzing along his thoughts. The rest of the room disappears; there’s just Keith, laid out like an offering, and Shiro takes his fill, raking his gaze over the long lines of his body, over his bared throat where Keith’s head is thrown back.

There aren’t enough words in the English language for how much he likes the idea, knowing that Keith’s thoughts, his attention, may wander but in the end he always returns to Shiro, to right where he belongs. Shiro’s on his knees now, leaning over where Keith twists and turns and offers himself up, and Shiro, eyes heavy lidded and hungry, reaches for him, claws one-two-three-four-five on his throat. Keith gasps, and the world snaps back into place.

(There’s something not quite right with this bo--)

Shiro lays down and stares blankly at the ceiling.

Shiro approaches the cockpit on silent feet. Not through any great desire to sneak around, just purely to silence the creeping sense of danger that blankets him when he doesn’t. It’s just one more thing that he’s no longer able to ignore, but Shiro’s learning to pick and choose his battles. Anything he can do to ease the burden on Keith. It’s why he’s grateful for the lack of reflective surfaces on the Lion. It’s absurd to think that he sometimes doesn’t recognise the face that stares back at him from it, but…

(There’s something not right with this--)

He slows just before the door, the sound of Keith speaking with the others reaching him. He’s not really up to putting on a smile and speaking with the others today so instead he hovers in the doorway, just out of sight, listening to the call.

Keith smells warm, content, and he sounds it too, bantering with and commanding and taking care of his team. He’s really stepped up as a leader, his style different from Shiro’s but compelling in its own way, and honestly Shiro couldn’t be more proud.

He doesn’t smell like Shiro though.

The thought itches at him, as the call winds and wends. They call on him and Keith, a well of patience, responds in turn, as though he answers to them, as though he _belongs_ to them, but that’s Shiro’s fault for not bringing him to heel sooner, not staking his claim. He thinks of the long column of Keith’s neck and wants to press his marks to it, set his teeth to it. Keith, willful and strong and bowing his head only to Shiro. It heats his blood.

Shiro enters the room just as Keith is ending the call, ghosting up behind him, claws reaching for the nape of his neck. Keith whips round, just before Shiro can make contact, on his feet with hackles up, eyes sparking a challenge up at Shiro, and Shiro _yearns_ to put him in his place: under Shiro, where he belongs.

“Keith,” he says, and his voice comes out rougher, deeper, than expected.

He takes a step forward, his body a cage, and Keith’s whole body tenses like he’s about to run, teeth bared in a warning. One that Shiro deliberately ignores, prowling forward another step, the thought of running Keith to ground, of sinking his claws, his teeth, his cock into Keith as intoxicating as his scent curling around him.

But then Keith deliberately dispels the tension in his frame, and Shiro is stumbling back and shaking his head, hazy, as Keith says, “hey, are you hungry? Let’s go get some lunch.” He edges past Shiro with his back to the wall, heading towards the door, and after a moment

(There’s something _not right_ with this--)

Shiro goes to follow.

Shiro’s claws close around his throat as Keith gasps and jerks awake, and then Shiro is rolling over in a pretence of sleep as Keith stumbles to his feet and out of the cabin. In the wake of his escape, the hot scent of his distress, his arousal, fills the cabin and buzzes in his head and Shiro breathes in deep,

(There’s something _wrong_ with--)

listening as Keith sobs and curses and keens as he comes.

All things considered, there’s not much to actually _do_ in the Lion, so it’s no surprise that they’ve taken to exercising in the cargo hold. Both he and Keith are far too physical to be able to sit comfortably and contemplate their existence – and it’s probably for the best that Shiro doesn’t get too deep into his own head – but truth be told the exercise does more to ground him in his body than anything else he’s tried so far. It’s starting to look like Shiro’s dream of no longer being a stranger in his own body might actually have a chance of coming true. Besides, he doesn’t know if he’ll be getting another arm so… it’s best to be prepared for any eventuality.

So they have a standing date to train together each day. And Shiro’s lived a pretty disciplined life, with the Garrison, and the rigid routine he followed to eke out as much as he could from his failing body, but some days he just… can’t.

Today’s one of them: he lies there alone in the cabin, Keith obviously having no problems getting out of the goddamn bed, and it’s been hours but Shiro’s still lying there uselessly, the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes as though he can force order to his runaway thoughts. It’s like they’re still shuffling around, still trying to fit together, and Shiro’s been having flashes of memories all out of sequence all morning, random sights and sounds enough to give him a headache.

In the end it’s his rumbling stomach that forces him out, head still so stuffed full that thinking is like trying to be heard in a nightclub. He bolts down some goo, and then, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arm, he heads down to the cargo hold to sweat it out.

Keith’s already there, naturally, just finishing his last set of push ups and then rolling smoothly to his feet to begin practising his forms. There’s power in his attacks, a touch of wildness in his moves that makes him so deadly to fight against. Shiro’s breathing hitches slightly when he notices Keith’s bare feet, the shot of vulnerability amidst the controlled violence hitting him like a blow to the chest. It’s an arresting sight, and Shiro stands transfixed in the doorway, Keith’s musky scent washing over him.

Sweat trickles down from Keith’s temple in a slow caress, pooling in the hollow of his throat, and Shiro takes it all in, hungry, the roar of his blood loud in his ears. Suddenly everything is clear, like the static has been cleaned from the film. Shiro _prowls_ forward, each step deliberately placed, until he’s close enough to just reach out and take. But Keith senses him – because of course he does, he’s not one to just roll over and _take_ it, and Shiro grows hot at the thought, excited at the challenge – and lashes out, claws raking through the air, aiming for his face. Shiro catches it before it can make contact, fingers biting into the wrist, gaze heavy in satisfaction. Keith says something, but the sound just washes over him, a background buzz to the heady scent and sight of him, and Shiro’s hum is one of pleasure more than any kind of response.

It’s obvious how much  Keith’s whole body  _wants_ ,  the pulse beating double time at his throat, the way he wets his lips, and Keith twists free just as Shiro lunges for him, dancing back only drive forward with a kick at Shiro’s vulnerable side.  And then it’s a pure, savage fight, Shiro delighting in how quick and how cunning Keith is even as Shiro backs him into a corner, grinds him into the ground.

I t ends how Shiro always knew it would: Keith beneath him, his teeth at his throat, Keith’s body yielding to his.  His claws land one-two-three-four-five on him and Keith gasps, snapping the world back into place.

(T here’s something  wrong \-- )

Shiro stumbles to his feet, a shaking hand on his face like hiding it is enough to take away the shame too.

“Why am I...?”

(T here’s something  _wrong_ \-- )

Shiro flees.

He’s consumed, every thought circling back round to Keith. The wild way they fought, the way Keith yielded so sweetly in the end, and god he should ask for a transfer, get as far away from Keith as fast as possible but his thoughts slip dangerously whenever he considers the idea. To leave Keith all alone, unmarked, _unclaimed…_

He tries to avoid him instead, keep his distance as much as possible. But the more Shiro tries to avoid him, the more he finds himself hunting him through the Lion, caught on his scent. He blinks and suddenly he’s pressed up behind him in the galley, head bowed to mouth at the nape of his neck, teeth grazing across the unmarred skin until Keith snarls in warning. His sight narrows to just Keith, and when he surfaces he’ll find he’s caged Keith up against the wall, the promise of his teeth on Keith’s throat up against the threat of Keith’s claws against his stomach. Keith offers defiance and submission in turns until he slips away in an escape and Shiro has to fight the urge to give chase.

He passes his days in a fog, time skipping between the moments with Keith, and his nights are spent staring blankly at the ceiling, buried in Keith’s hot scent as he sobs and curses and keens and comes.

He’s spiralling, spinning rapidly out of control, like an aircraft caught in a tailspin, except Shiro had never wanted so badly to crash and burn.

He’s trying to stop but Keith’s eyes keep challenging him and his scent keeps beckoning him,

(There’s something wro--)

and Shiro burns to put him in his place

(There’s something--)

to make him bend, make him _bleed_ ,

(There’s--)

to show him where he belong.

Shiro lunges.

Sitting back on his heels, Shiro trails his gaze over Keith’s prone body, hot satisfaction rising in him at the sight of his neck, bruised and bleeding with Shiro’s marks. The sight of it settles something deep inside him, some instinct finally quieted. His torso aches when he moves, wounds still bleeding sluggishly, but he ignores that in favour of running a covetous palm over Keith’s hips and down to his ass where come still leaks from his hole. Wonderingly, he presses the pads of his fingers to the marks he’d left behind, and Keith twitches and moans, sprawled on the ground beneath him completely wrecked.

Keith’s still breathing heavily – they both are – but he stretches, catlike, and rolls over onto his back. His gaze is heavy-lidded, pleased, when he looks up at Shiro, lips bitten red, and Shiro has to lean down and kiss his mouth, just for a bit, just for the taste of him. He still wants, satisfied but not yet sated, and with his claim plain for anyone to see, it’s heady to know he can just take.

Shiro’s teeth tug at Keith’s bottom lip as his hand tugs at his shorts, only sitting back long enough to pull them off completely and toss them elsewhere. He settles back between Keith’s thighs, right where he should be, but then Keith tenses up, whole body locked up, hands coming up as if to ward him off

“Shiro…” he begins, looking up at him through the curtain of his hair, scent wary and stricken and sour with growing guilt. “You\--” he starts, but Shiro pushes past Keith’s hands to rest his on Keith’s throat, thumbing over one of his marks at the base of his neck, and Keith stops himself with a shudder, tilting his head back like instinct with a sigh more like a moan. Shiro’s blood pounds a mantra of _mine mine mine_ in his ears, and his voice is rough when he asks, “yeah?” His thumb sweeps a wide arc over where Keith’s pulse flutters, eyes intent on him. 

Keith’ s inhale shakes through him, hands  now g ripping onto Shiro’s bloody t shirt like a lifeline. He stares  at  S hiro for a long time, eyes searching his face, before a  smile breaks out, tentative but getting stronger .

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> but i was so excited to write porn that i forgot i lived in a world in which kosmo exists
> 
> we'll just pretend he took himself elsewhere to get away from the truly awful levels of sexual tension


End file.
